the sun and a yellow field,
noon is nearing quietness;
somehow a voice hangs still in air,
somehow all birds have gone away.
i do not know what comes to me,
but when i gaze at the stillness
of the sun and a yellow field,
i feel the quiet beauty of your face.
blue eyes, blue of cornflower,
your hair, a golden spun of hay;
the bubbling brook, hint of your laughter,
your breath, the warmth of early May.
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